Olenna Tyrell
One day, she managed to speak with Joffrey in private. He received her in his study—a room that, by now, the entire castle knew about.
Olenna cast a curious glance over its furnishings—the wall-sized map, the shelves filled with books on law, history, geography, taxation, and more.
It impressed her, though she gave no outward sign. It was clear that this was no mere decoration, but a place the king actually used, where he sought answers when he lacked knowledge or needed to recall something.
"Lady Olenna, I'm glad to see you," the king said, not too proud to pull out a chair and help her sit. "Margaery has spoken much of your intellect and initiative. It's a pity we've only now found time to talk."
"How pleasant to know you discuss even old women with my granddaughter."
"Such conversations can be of interest."
"If one knows what to talk about."
"And if the person is worth it."
She asked simple questions and listened to seemingly straightforward answers. Ah, how much the king had changed. Before, no one had ever noticed in him a fondness for wordplay.
His speech flowed smoothly and unhurriedly. He had a pleasant voice and he knew many rare and beautiful words. Listening to him, Olenna realized that this was one of the keys he had used to win her granddaughter's heart.
"My grandson Willas has spoken to me about you, Joffrey," she said. During the conversation, the king had easily and naturally allowed her to address him by name, while declaring that from now on he would call her "Grandmother."
"You have remarkable and intelligent grandchildren," warmth crept into his voice. "Margaery, Willas… Garlan and his wife have also made a fine impression on me."
"It is pleasant to hear that. And it is about Willas that I wished to speak with you. My grandson mentioned a new word—'observatory'—and spoke at length about your intention to build a special tower for observing the stars. Though I confess I understand little of such matters."
"If you wish, Grandmother, we can speak of that," the king said with a faint smile. "But for some reason, I have a feeling you have other things on your mind."
"My grandson needs a wife. A union between Willas and Myrcella seems most advantageous from every angle."
She said it quickly, yet saw no surprise in his face—the king seemed to have expected that this would be the true subject of their conversation.
"The Hand has told me of your interest," the king said thoughtfully, shifting his gaze to the map. He said nothing more and simply remained silent.
Olenna was the first to break the pause.
"Joffrey, is there something about this match that troubles you?"
"If you mean Willas's injury—not at all," the king said with a faint smirk. "But it is not I who must live with him—it is Myrcella. I would first like to know her opinion. And besides, Grandmother, we are at war. I would prefer to defeat Petyr Baelish first, and only then indulge in such matters."
"We could agree on a betrothal now and postpone the wedding ceremony until a later date," Olenna tried another approach.
"There is no need to rush. And it would be wise to learn Myrcella's opinion."
Olenna fell into thought. Usually, the heads of great houses decided the fates of daughters and granddaughters themselves—the girls' own opinions were of little concern. Either she was missing something… or—
After some reflection, she concluded that the king was simply stalling or waiting for something. Asking for Myrcella's opinion was merely a convenient excuse to avoid giving an immediate answer.
"Since I am now your grandmother, may I ask you one question?"
"That depends on the question."
"Has Lord Tarly approached you with a similar proposal?"
"Yes," Joffrey replied with surprising ease.
"And what did you tell him?"
"The same as I told you."
They spoke for some time longer. After taking her leave, Olenna returned to her chambers.
So, the struggle for Princess Myrcella's hand had begun. I am growing old, Olenna thought to herself, if I have sunk so low as to concern myself with arranging the fate of some girl.
And yet—her own grandson might become the husband of a princess. A tempting prize, indeed.
Tarly, it seemed, was no fool. Rumor had it that the Hightowers of Oldtown had also suddenly taken an interest in Myrcella. Estermont and Mathis Rowan were behaving rather suspiciously as well—and both houses had young men of suitable age.
Now Joffrey's position was entirely clear to her—when there were so many suitors, there was room for choice. Kevan and Joffrey could afford to assess the candidates and determine who might offer the most.
Lady Olenna pondered all this as she sat in her chambers at a small table by an open window overlooking the godswood. The dark red, five-pointed leaves rustled softly in the wind, as though whispering an ancient and unknowable song.
The Queen of Thorns thoughtfully cut open a pomegranate. Juice splashed onto her thin, dry palm. She wiped it away absently with a handkerchief.
What could the Tyrells offer?
Ah, if only her own son had not been such a fool—if he had not forgiven the crown's debt, she might now have hinted at those eight hundred thousand.
The situation was further complicated by the fact that Joffrey had already received everything he could through his wife. And he would receive even more, as the Tyrells would continue to support not only him, but also their grandchildren and Margaery. And the king, as she realized, had no intention of paying for what came to him freely.
So what, then, could be offered to Joffrey?
(End of Chapter)
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